


Three Little Words

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: Blangst, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Family Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:10:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark Anderson could clearly remember the last time he told his son he loved him.</p><p>One-shot about the relationship between Blaine and his father. Somewhat late Shooting Star reaction fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Little Words

**Author's Note:**

> So, my new thing is to write fanfiction more often. Originally I was aiming for a short fic a week, but this four and a half thousand word beast took longer than expected to write, so it's just a fic more often than before, i.e. more than once a year. I've had this in my head since Shooting Star first aired, and it's taken me a while to get it right. So, here goes!

Mark Anderson could clearly remember the last time he’d told his son he loved him.

It had been Blaine’s fourteenth birthday, and he had just opened his final present; a brand new guitar. Eyes wide, he’d gently run his fingers over the back and the neck, giving the new strings a gentle pluck.

“Thank you so much!” he’d squeaked out, giving each parent a one-armed hug, the other hand carefully holding the gift. Mark chuckled at his son’s excitement.

“Happy birthday, son,” he said, smiling. “I love you.”

It seemed so insignificant at the time, but, looking back, Mark saw it is the end of a chapter in the story of him and Blaine - that last chapter before the plot thickens, before bad things start happening.

 

* * *

 

It was about a month later when there was a tentative knock at the door to his study. A mop of curly hair poked through the crack between the door and the frame.

“Dad? Can I come in? I wanted to… to talk to you about something.”

Mark felt slightly taken aback; it was very unlike Blaine to interrupt him when he was in his study. Alarm bells started going off in his head; this must be important, if Blaine, who doesn’t like getting in people’s ways, is purposefully coming and interrupting him.

“Come on in.”

Taking off his reading glasses and switching off the desk lamp, he stood up and headed towards the sofa in the corner of the room, indicating for Blaine to do the same.

“It’s alright, come and sit here with me. Now, what’s bothering you?”

Blaine sat on the edge of the seat, one knee bouncing up and down, wringing his hands so hard Mark thought he might be trying to pull them off.

“Well, Dad, you see, I wanted to talk to you about - well, I wanted to be honest about, um, well, er… me, and…” he lowered his head, breaking eye contact with his father. “I’ve done a lot of… thinkinging… recently, and have come to the conclusion that I am - and, well, always have been -” another pause as he tried to take in a few, short breaths. “Gay. I’m gay. I like - boys. I like boys.”

Mark felt his throat seize up. Blaine - his son, Blaine - his baby - was gay. Homosexual.

All sorts of images were immediately flung into his head. Images of boys he’d been at school with, at college with, with ‘faggot’ sprayed across their lockers, proudly holding hands until some secrecy had been beaten into them by the jocks, of flamboyant parades would be mocked and jeered, or coming back to halls with that death sentence, that little piece of paper from  the doctors that just promised a life of illness and social exclusion.

Then he tried to put Blaine in that picture. Blaine coming home, crying, because his car had been spray-painted. Blaine putting on a brave face before coming home and throwing the rainbow flag on the ground in frustration. Blaine, face gaunt and pale, reading those words over and over again; ‘Test results: HIV: positive.’

“Daddy?”

Mark was yanked out of his thoughts by his son’s voice, weak and wavering, tears running down his face.

“Daddy? I’m - I’m sorry, Daddy, I shouldn’t have - I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Mark racked his brains - what do you do? What are you supposed to do? “No, Blaine, don’t apologise. You - well done. For being yourself. And, er - thank you for telling me.” Would that do? Was that right? “How about you, um, go and help your mother with dinner?”

Blaine nodded, smiling weakly, and slipped out of the study.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Mark let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, and collapsed against the sofa. He felt that he hadn’t said the right thing - but then, what was he supposed to do? Or say? They definitely didn’t mention this in parenting classes.

Sighing deeply, he returned to his desk, trying his hardest to push it to the back of his mind.

 

* * *

 

It was a few months later when one of Mark’s many fears became a reality.

He’d been aware that the school was holding a Sadie Hawkins dance, and he’d been aware that his son was going. He had, however, been unaware that his son was going with a boy.

The thought had briefly crossed his mind, before he reasoned that even the headstrong, lovable Blaine wouldn’t be daft enough to go to a school dance with a guy in Ohio; and anyway, if the girl is meant to ask the guy, who would ask who? No, he reasoned, he must be going with a girl, as friends.

And not that he’d ever say it out loud, but he secretly hoped that Blaine might go with a girl as more than friends.

He was utterly unprepared, therefore, for a phone call from the hospital at half past ten.

“Hello, this is Lima General Hospital. We need to speak to Mr or Mrs Anderson?”

“Mark Anderson here. Is everything alright?”

“It’s about your son, Blaine. He’s just been brought into hospital? He needs a parent or guardian here, as he’s under sixteen.”

Mark promptly spat out the wine he’d been drinking.

“Blaine? In hospital?! What happened?!”

He could hear the tapping of a keyboard in the background.

“I’m afraid we can’t say over the phone, Mr Anderson. But if you could come in as soon as possible, and we will explain everything then?”

He felt his heart slowly sink into his stomach. Surely Blaine wouldn’t be so stupid to… But no. He was so trusting, he saw the best in everyone, he wouldn’t think of the danger -

“I’ll, um, I’ll be there right away,” he mumbled down the phone, before hanging up and throwing it down onto the base.

He strode into the sitting room, where his wife, Jennifer, was sitting on the sofa, reading a magazine.

“Who was that?” she asked absentmindedly.

“It was the hospital,” he said blankly. “Blaine is - I don’t really know, but we need to go there.”

Jennifer’s face suddenly fell, as they both rushed towards the door, pulling shoes on whilst hopping down the drive to the car.

Ten minutes later they were sprinting up to the hospital help-desk, car haphazardly parked in the non-parking zone. They were shown through to Blaine’s room; there he was, lying in bed, unconscious. He had a thick white bandage round his head, with the gel-frazzled locks spilling out. He was hooked up to an IV, a heart monitor, a blood transfusion, and something else, that Mark didn’t recognise. He felt rather than heard Jennifer gasp beside him. Blaine looked so small in that hospital bed; he felt his heart pang at the reminder that his baby boy had been hurt.

“What happened?” he asked the doctor, incredulously.

The doctor paused, as if thinking of what to say, before indicating that they should sit down.

“From what we can gather, your son and his date were waiting for their lift home, when three seniors at the school attacked them. We know that Blaine was hit with a baseball bat and knocked to the ground; the other boy managed to get far enough away to call 911, and the ambulance arrived before he lost too much blood. He’s currently in a coma; we don’t know how long it will be before he wakes up.”

He went on to explain the nature of Blaine’s injuries, but Mark didn’t take any of it in. His son had been attacked, beaten up for being gay, for going to a dance with a guy. Was the guy his boyfriend? Why didn’t he know about it? Why didn’t he bother to ask?

Why was he blaming himself for his son being in a coma?

“I’ll leave you two,” the doctor finished, pulling Mark out of his thoughts. He gently closed the door behind him, leaving Mark and Jennifer along with Blaine.

“Who would do this to our baby boy?” Jennifer whimpered, after several minutes of silence.

Mark had no reply.

It was another four days before Blaine woke up. His parents had made sure he wasn’t alone at all, just in case; taking in turns to go home and shower, grabbing a meal, both calling into work, explaining the situation.

So when, after several long days, he finally twitched his fingers and turned his head, they both breathed a sigh of relief; he was going to be ok.

“What… what happened?” Blaine asked groggily, after being handed a glass of water and had been checked over by the nurse. “Why am I in… in the hospital?”

“You were at the dance, sweetie,” Jennifer said, clutching his hand as if to check that he was still there. “You and your friend - Scott, was it? And these guys, jocks, they - they -”

She was crying too hard to continue.

“They beat you up. You hit your head, and broke your arm and a few ribs,” Mark finished, tired.

“But… why? I’m… confused, I don’t really remember-”

“Because you were stupid enough to go to a school dance with a guy!” Mark snapped, making both his wife and his son jump. “Blaine, what on earth possessed you? What made you think that it was a good idea? Huh? You could have been killed!!! And for what, to prove a point?”

There was a tense silence as Mark’s words hung in the air. Mark was stood there, fuming, while Jennifer looked ready to drag him out to knock some sense into him. Blaine, however, shrunk even further into his hospital beds.

“I’m just fed up of hiding,” he said, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Is it really that bad? To have a night of just being me? Or would you rather I just crawl back in the closet? Is that what you want, Dad?”

At first, Mark thought he was asking a rhetorical question, before it hit him like a bucket of ice. Blaine was being serious. If he wanted him to, Blaine would go back in the closet. For him.

This, alone, humbled him more than anything else in his entire life. The sudden realisation of the control he held over his son, that he always had… it scared him.

Ducking his head, he went to leave the room.

“I don’t want that,” he said over his shoulder, pausing in the doorway. “I never want that.” And he left.

 

* * *

 

Things hadn’t been the same between Mark and Blaine ever since then. Blaine had, of course,  been grateful that he had been transferred to Dalton Academy, and Mark had, of course, cared for Blaine when he came out of hospital. Jennifer had suggested that Mark think of something they could do, as a bonding activity, to try and regain the relationship they once had.

Ok, so maybe choosing to rebuild a car hadn’t been the best of ideas. It didn’t take Mark long to realise where he’d gone wrong; he’d chosen something he’d wanted to do. Blaine had been distant throughout the whole project, and it was only after they finished that Jennifer confided in him, explaining that Blaine thought he was trying to straighten him out.

Hit with the impact of his misguided efforts, Mark tried to find things that Blaine wanted to do. But, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get it right. He was always accused of either stereotyping, or trying to ‘convert’ his son. In the end, he was forced to conclude that Blaine obviously didn’t want to spend time with him. It hurt, of course it did, but he honestly didn’t blame him.

So, he decided to support Blaine in everything he did. Attend every competition; both show choir and polo. Knocking on his door to tell him that his singing practice sounded good; giving him as much money as he needed for coffee with his friends.

But, as the security and friendships at Dalton steadily started to strengthen and support Blaine, helping him grow, Mark was forced to admit something.

He no longer knew his son.

 

* * *

 

It was halfway through Blaine’s sophomore year when he came home from school grinning wildly, practically skipping through the hall. His hair was slightly tussled, and his shirt was just ever so slightly crumpled.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Jennifer asked, Mark looking up from his newspaper to see Blaine with a grin from ear to ear. He folded the paper up as Blaine flung himself onto one of the armchairs, sighing happily.

“I have very exciting news!” he said, fingers tapping incessantly on the arms of the chair. “I have a boyfriend!”

Jennifer squealed so high that Mark was sure the dogs next door were going beserk. What was she so excited about?

“I’m so happy!” she cried, clapping her hands together. Tell us everything! What’s his name? Is it your friend, um, what’s his name - Chris? Callum?”

“Kurt,” Blaine breathed out.

“Kurt!” Jennifer sighed. “I remember now! He seemed ever so nice when we met him. Oh, how exciting! How did you get together? Did you ask him? Did he ask you? Have you kissed yet?”

“Jennifer, let him speak,” Mark said, rolling his eyes, before leaving the two of them to it in the sitting room.

A boyfriend. It’s not like the concept was particularly foreign; he knew it was going to happen some day. But it just made everything seem more… real. There was being gay, and then there was… having a boyfriend. Having a gay son and having a son-in-law were two completely different ballgames.

It probably wouldn’t last long; they were teenagers, after all. They would stay together as long as the novelty was still there, and then they would have a fight, or one of them would get bored, and they’d break up, cry for a week or so, then go back to being friends.

But that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

It seemed that whatever Blaine and Kurt had going was serious. They went on dates, held hands, and occasionally kissed when in private, but they seemed to spend most of their time together talking, and getting to know each other. It wasn’t unheard of for teenage relationships to be this serious, but… well, it was rare.

Mark decided that it was time to talk to Blaine about this. After all, all anything Blaine said now was ‘Kurt this’, ‘Kurt that’, but the conversation usually wasn’t what one would describe as two-way.

His opportunity came sooner than expected, on a lazy Saturday morning in the kitchen over breakfast.

“So, son,” he started, glancing up at Blaine on the other side of the breakfast bar in the kitchen. “How are things with Kurt?”

“It’s great!” Blaine replied, his face lighting up at the mention of his boyfriend. “We’re going out tonight, they’re showing Dirty Dancing at the cinema, and, you know, Patrick Swayze! So we’re going together. It’s going to be great! I was thinking of wearing -”

“Sounds great,” Mark interrupted, not ready for a full analysis of everything that might possibly happen at the cinema that night. “Sounds like you two are pretty serious, then?”

Blaine’s eyes misted over in a way that should only happen in movies. “I know it’s early days, but I really think that he might be the one. I think I’m falling in love with him, and even though we’ve only just got together, we were friends for a while before that, and I just… I can’t imagine life without him!”

“As long as you don’t ignore your other friends,” Mark commented, gruffly. “I know what it’s like - it seems like the greatest thing in the world, but, just in case something happens, you still want your friends there. Just in case, of course.”

Blaine looked up at him, suddenly cold. “Dad, nothing will happen. We’re in this for the long haul, and I honestly can’t see us splitting up any time soon. But of course I’m spending time with my other friends. And Kurt still has all his friends from McKinley. We do talk to other people, shocking as it may seem.”

Mark felt a bit taken aback by Blaine’s blunt answer. “I just worry about you, that’s all. I don’t want you to get hurt. Speaking of,” he cleared his throat, “how are things on the...physical side of the relationship?”

Blaine went bright red. “Dad!” he whined. “Do we have to talk about this?”

“Yes, I want to make sure that, you know, you’re being mature and… safe.”

Blaine visibly recoiled at the thought of having this conversation. “Dad, me and Kurt have talked about it, and what we’re comfortable with, and… look, we’re not doing that yet, ok?! We kiss and that’s it, that’s all either of us are ready for right now. And I promise that if we ever… do… we’ll be safe and everything. I do know about it.”

With that, he got up and stalked towards the door. Pausing slightly, he turned back to say, “you know, you could try being happy for me.”

And he left.

 

* * *

 

It was almost exactly a eighteen months later that it happened.

A lot can happen in eighteen months. Blaine had moved schools, been the lead in the school musical. Blaine started washing his sheets a lot more, which led to the realisation that maybe there should be more rules about when he was home alone. Blaine was in hospital, Blaine was crying because Kurt was leaving and pulling away, Blaine was happy that Kurt was staying, Blaine was sad that Kurt didn’t go to New York, Blaine was sad when Kurt did go to New York, Blaine was sad when Kurt did go to New York…

Come to think of it, Blaine had done a lot. More than attend meetings and make the occasional dinner.

As families go, they didn’t see each other much. If you needed someone’s help, you’d go and seek it out. They didn’t really pay all that much attention to each other. They liked to pretend they did, sometimes, but in reality, the majority of life would fly by.

It would be obvious to anyone, though, that Blaine wasn’t coping well with Kurt’s absence.

He put on a brave face, of course, but that didn’t mean that the cracks didn’t show. He rarely ate three full meals a day, and was locked away in his room nearly all the time. Sometimes Mark thought he could hear crying through the wall.

It was on a Friday night when Blaine came home late - still before curfew, but much later than usual - with his hair a mess, his clothes crumpled, and tears streaming down his face.

“Darling, what happened?” Jennifer jumped up at the sight of Blaine in the doorway. As she approached to give him a hug, however, he flinched away, face crumbling, whimpering sobs.

Mark gently folded his newspaper and Jennifer slowly coaxed Blaine to a seat on the sofa.

For a few minutes, all they could hear was Blaine quietly crying. Just as Mark was about to give up, to just leave them to it, Blaine spoke up.

“I was so stupid,” he whispered. “I just - I missed Kurt so much, and I… I was so lonely and he was so nice, and I just wanted to feel something, anything, but I screwed up so bad and-” He was cut off by another round of sobs.

Mark felt like a bucket of ice had been thrown over his head.

“Blaine, are you saying - have you -”

The look on Blaine’s face said it all.

Mark whipped out his iPad, opening safari.

“Dad, what are you doing? Please - please don’t tell Kurt, he can’t know, or Burt, that would be worse-”

“I’m booking you a flight to New York, tomorrow afternoon,” he replied gruffly. “You have to tell Kurt, and sooner rather than later. He’s the best goddamn thing that’s ever happened to you, I’m not going to let you screw this up.”

Blaine sat mouth open slightly, baffled and alarmed by his father’s words. Mark realised that he was also surprised, but not wrong. Kurt was the best thing to happen to Blaine, including his own parents, and there was no way Mark was going to give up on what makes Blaine happy. ‘If only you’d realised that sooner’, his inner voice was saying, but he silenced it; now was not the time.

“There,” he triumphantly pressed the button booking the flight. “You depart at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. And if you need to, I’d like you to go down to the clinic first thing tomorrow and pee in a jar. Just in case.”

Blaine nodded, dumbly, before standing up and wondering upstairs, as if in a trance.

It was only once they had heard the door shut that either of them spoke.

“I’m proud of you, Mark,” Jennifer said, looking at him with sad eyes. “You seem to be more… well, supportive isn’t the word, but, you know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean,” he replied with a tired smile. Nearly thirty years of married life? It would be hard not to know what she meant. “I just worry that it’s too little, too late.”

Mark woke up late the next morning to find Blaine gone. He blearily wondered about his son’s whereabouts, but it became apparent half an hour later, when Blaine came in, clutching a piece of paper.

“All negative,” he said weakly at his father’s questioning glance, “but the nurse said that it’s too early to be sure for most things. She gave me a couple of shots, for prevention, and told me to come back in a month.”

Mark didn’t know what to say. Despite his fears, he never would have seriously thought that Blaine, the most responsible by far of his sons, would be visiting the sexual health clinic following a one night stand, while in a long-term relationship.

How times change.

In some ways, it was no surprise when Blaine came home from New York even more upset than when he left. And although he would never admit it, he had, rather optimistically, hoped that for once Kurt would be irrational and too forgiving, taking Blaine back when he knew that, as much as it hurt, Blaine really didn’t deserve it.

He didn’t know what to say, driving Blaine back from the airport, and it was only once they were in the driveway that Blaine spoke at all.

“Daddy, do you hate me?”

Mark froze. How could Blaine even think that? How much was Blaine hurting, if it would cross his mind that his own parents hated him?

“Of course not,” Mark breathed out, pulling Blaine into a hug.

 

* * *

 

Mark Anderson had spent a lot of the last few years being scared for his youngest son. He’d been scared of what was an unknown but undoubtedly dangerous path. He’d been scared when he was in hospital, looking down at his baby boy in a coma. He’d been scared when he first heard about The Boyfriend, of his baby getting hurt by someone he trusted. He’ been scared when his baby came in, sobbing, having cheated on said boyfriend.

But nothing terrified him more than the thought, the actual reality, of the possibility of his son dying.

He remembers the text he got during the meeting. It had been a very important meeting, he knows that much. And he has a general rule about no phones in meetings.

But he had a feeling, that nagging suspicion that he would have to check his phone this time. The small vibrating in his pocket somehow triggered something, he felt that it was important, he just didn’t know how. Yet sometimes, human instinct is an amazing thing.

SHOOTER IN SCHOOL. WE’RE IN CHOIR ROOM. DON’T KNOW IF THEY’VE CALLED 911.

And then a second message, a few seconds later.

I’M SCARED, DADDY.

Mark leapt up, startling everyone else in the conference room.

“I’m sorry, I have to go, my son is, I just… it’s important.”

He didn’t know how many red lights he drove through, or how many speed limits he broke, just that, within twenty minutes, he was outside William McKinley High School.

There was an ambulance with, thankfully, no patients, and the SWAT team, and the few children who had been rescued so far clinging onto parents.

Pushing through the crowd of anxious parents, he somehow reached the front where a few police officers were trying to reassure parents.

“Please! My son!” he yelled, trying to push through.

“I’m sorry sir, we’re doing all we can do, we will do your best to make sure that your son is safe,” the policeman recited at him, repeating the same to each parent.

“They’re in the choir room!” he panted. “He sent me a message, they’re in the choir room!”

The expression on the policeman’s face instantly changed.

“I’ll go and tell the team,” he said, briskly walking off.

In reality, it was only about ten minutes before the school was declared safe and a flurry of kids ran out, but it felt like years. Yet nothing was sweeter than the moment when Blaine ran into Mark’s arms, tear tracks down his face, hysterical with relief.

“I was so scared, Daddy,” Blaine was crying into his chest, and Mark knew that the anxiety that had briefly plagued him all those years ago after a school dance had hit full force.

“I know,” Mark soothed, running his hand over Blaine’s back. “It’s ok, you’re safe now, Daddy’s got you. You’re safe. No one's ever going to hurt you again. I love you, Blaine,” he said, clinging onto his son for dear life.

He felt Blaine still in the embrace, before slowly looking up at him.

“You - you love me?” he said, voice filled with disbelief.

“Of course I do!” Mark replied, welling up. “You’re my baby boy, how could I not love you?”

“But - but you haven’t said it since - I assumed that since everything happened, you -”

“I will always love you, Blaine,” Mark said, pulling Blaine into a fierce hug. “And I’m sorry I’ve been a crap dad. I’m so, so sorry.”

And there they stood, until everyone else had long gone home, and night was beginning to fall.

“Come on,” Mark said, walking Blaine towards his car, still parked haphazardly in the car park. “Let’s get home. Your mother’s probably worried sick. And I think we have a lot of getting-to-know-each-other to do.”

And it was in the wee hours of the morning when Blaine, physically exhausted but wide awake turned round and said, “Dad? I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed that! Please leave a comment - feedback is my favourite thing.


End file.
